The War and the Fox Page 10

  Still the otter remained stubbornly silent. Kip cursed and reached out, overturning the small table and grabbing the papers from it. They contained a map of the hill and harbor, but no list of demon names. He needed the otter’s information.

  “All right,” he said, “I’m taking these papers back. You can give me the name and come with me, or…or I’ll leave you to burn here.”

  He hoped dearly that the otter wouldn’t call his bluff, but the Calatian remained resolute. “You do what you must,” he said.

  With a curse, Kip sent Nikolon back to the house where Malcolm and Alice were, to give him an anchor to translocate. He’d never tried to send another person before. “All right, now.” His paws glowed purple as he seized the otter’s wrist. “Just relax and you’ll be safe in a moment.”

  “You said you’d leave me!”

  Another bullet whistled past them. “I’m not leaving you,” Kip said, and activated the spell.

  The otter vanished. Hopefully he hadn’t appeared in the middle of a wall or floor. Kip breathed in, gathered magic again—

  A red-coated soldier burst through the burning wall of the tent, musket leveled at Kip. The fox reacted without thinking: he had magic in him and the fire on the tent was right there. He directed it at the man, incinerating him in a blaze of heat that flared and then went out, leaving a blackened shadow of the man who’d stood there a moment before. It wobbled and then fell with a thud.

  The smell reached him while he was gathering magic to translocate himself, making him gag. He completed the spell and burst into a cacophony of gunfire and cries, the stink of the house mercifully clear of the smell of burning flesh. He staggered to the wall and breathed, trying to hold in the nausea as Alice cried out at his sudden appearance.

  “Where did you go?” He registered the voice as Captain Lowell’s, right beside his ear. “Who is this otter?”

  “My prisoner,” Kip coughed out, and those words threatened to empty his stomach, so he clamped his muzzle shut.

  “You left this house without approval of your commanding officer. Where did you go?”

  He didn’t trust himself to answer. To his surprise, the otter spoke next. “He went to set my master on fire.”

  “Who’s your master?”

  “Master Braithwaite,” the otter replied promptly.

  “And Penfold killed him?”

  “No.” Kip drew in a breath, his stomach settling. “I set his robes afire and their translocational specialist took the three of them away.”

  “But not the otter.”

  Kip shook his head. “They left him.”

  Alice took his paw. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “I—I killed a soldier. I did set him on fire—he was going to shoot me—”

  Captain Lowell nodded, and for the first time, something like respect crossed his face. “Rather have you alive,” he said. “That water demon is still choking our soldiers out there.”

  Kip turned to the otter. “Please,” he said.

  The otter turned away from him and stared at the floor. And then, after a moment, he said, “Khanaton.”

  Kip’s ears perked up. He repeated the name. “Pronounced like that? You’re sure?”

  The otter nodded. Kip took a moment to evaluate, as Master Odden had taught him. The water demon looked to him like a second order demon, which he could probably banish without assistance from Calatian blood, and time was of the essence. So he gathered magic and spoke the dismissal spell, reaching out with the name Khanaton and finding the demon responsive. Dismissing was easier than binding, because the demon wanted to return home, so Kip mostly had to fight the binding spell, and with the sorcerer at a distance, he won that battle easily.

  “It’s gone!” Captain Lowell had moved to the window to watch. “The water, it’s gone!”

  Kip sagged back against the wall. The otter, watching him with wide eyes, said, “So you’ve no need for Calatian blood because of what’s in you?”

  “Sometimes,” Kip said.

  Lowell gestured at Kip. “Summon it back. Make it attack the British.”

  “No. You told me we’re not allowed to kill soldiers. I’ve already—”

  “They did it!” Lowell pointed outside. “We can give as good as we get!”

  “No.” Kip pushed himself upright. “One was enough, and I regret that. But I can…” He walked over to stand next to Lowell at the window, and called magic again. He’d never worked so many spells in quick succession and he felt now the fatigue of it, but fire was the easiest for him to work with and he knew he could do this.

  Fire blossomed in the wet grass around the British soldiers. They cursed and jumped back, but patches of fire surrounded them and there was no clear ground. In a moment, their position was shrouded in steam and smoke.

  The Americans, seeing their opportunity, advanced upon their blinded foes, firing upon shadows in the smoke or the noise of coughing. The cries came all from the British side now, and it was only moments before a loud horn sounded, summoning the army back over the hill.

  When Nikolon showed him that the British were in full retreat from Bunker’s Hill, Kip extinguished the fires and asked Alice to clear away the smoke. He sat with his back to the wall as Lowell reported that the Americans were advancing to hold the hill, and Kip watched through Nikolon as the British army pulled back, leaving trampled grass, red-coated bodies, and one charred frame of a tent from which smoke still rose.

  5

  Spain

  The army cleared the field around them save for a few sentry posts, but the soldiers left in the house did not seem eager to join their fellows. This was the first major battle any of them had been in, though they’d exchanged fire with British troops, and one of them had been aboard a ship that fired on a privateer.

  When they’d all told their stories, Captain Lowell told them of his service in the Napoleonic Wars. There had been only two battles on the American continent, and in the battle of New Orleans in 1809, he had saved the life of his commanding officer and assisted in the capture of a crucial fortification.

  “Ah,” one of the soldiers said. “I thought to ask how one of you came to be a captain.”

  His companion nodded. “Aye, I’ve heard of freed slaves being made corporals or even sergeants.”

  “I was a sergeant at the time.” If Captain Lowell felt any of the discomfort Kip did in hearing these questions, he didn’t let it show. “My commander felt that my bravery and loyalty should be rewarded.”

  “Good for you,” the first soldier said. The third remained silent, devoting his attention to cleaning his musket though he’d already cleaned it thoroughly.

  Callahan appeared shortly after that, but he ignored the soldiers as if they were furniture. He brought Captain Lowell, Kip, Malcolm, and Alice to the Trade House, and that was the last Kip saw of any of the soldiers they’d shared the Battle of Boston Harbor with.

  Back at the Trade House, they learned that the ships had tried to come in close enough to allow those on board to fire on the harbor, but one of the sorcerers in Callahan’s unit, who had a gift with water elementals, had confounded their navigation and kept them at bay. Captain Marsh at Charlestown Neck had had much more success than Lieutenant Dapper with the Dorchester Neck unit, which had been entirely overrun. However, thanks to Kip’s action and Captain Marsh’s sorcery, the army at the harbor had not had to worry about its northern front and had successfully repelled the British forces back to Dorchester.

  Master Colonel Jackson, in the large dining room, listened to Marsh’s account of the battle and then Callahan’s, acknowledging each with curt nods, but when it came to Dapper, Jackson interrupted him nearly every sentence.

  “We set out in the small boat as ordered,” Dapper began, “and sought a lee from the wind—”

  “Did you ensure that this lee gave you the best view of the battle?” Jackson asked, his tone mild.

  “As—as best we could, yes, sir.” Dapper’s tone wavered
at the stone below his commander’s bland question. “There was no activity until we heard a sharp report from one of the ships that appeared to be a signal—the same one Callahan reported.”

  “We’ve all heard Callahan’s report.” Jackson paced with his hands behind his back while Dapper, like the other sorcerers, remained seated, following his commanding officer with his head. “What did you do when you heard the signal?”

  “We…we waited.” Dapper’s voice cracked and he licked his lips. “We observed smoke, a very common tactic, and so I endeavored to clear it with a mild rain.”

  “Rain is the least effective tactic against smoke.” Jackson sounded and looked like a professor lecturing a particularly dim student. “Do you not have command of Kiva’s Wind?”

  “I’m more comfortable with water, sir,” Dapper said.

  “And why didn’t you direct the rain at the British troops? Cause some mud, some slipping?”

  “I—The smoke was on the American side.”

  The entire debrief went like this, with Jackson second-guessing Dapper at every turn, remaining mild in tone until it seemed the weight of Dapper’s mistakes broke some sort of dam. Jackson slammed both hands down on the table and turned the full weight of his disdain on the unfortunate sorcerer. “You continue at every turn,” he snarled, “to defend your incompetence, your hesitancy, your cowardice, even here in the presence of your fellows whose lives you endangered!”

  Dapper shrank back into his chair, and even those who were not the target of the Master Colonel’s ire flinched. “Meanwhile,” Jackson fairly shouted, “this crew, without an able-bodied white man among them, turned back an entire British division!” He pointed at Kip and Lowell, with Malcolm and Alice behind them.

  Malcolm stirred, and Kip worried he would make a whispered remark like he used to do when Patris lectured them, but his friend remained silent. “Lowell!” Jackson yelled.

  “Yes, sir.” Captain Lowell half-rose from his chair.

  “Sit down. Tell us about Bunker’s Hill.”

  He didn’t interrupt Lowell as the captain recounted the battle. Kip’s tail twitched when Lowell came to the part where Kip took his own initiative, and indeed, Lowell hesitated at that point. Then he said, “I had given Penfold considerable leeway to determine his own course of action, and through his demon, he located the main unit of sorcerers on the other side of the hill and chose to engage them.”

  “Highly inadvisable,” Jackson said, but his voice had lost much of its anger, and he went on. “Under most circumstances. It seems, though, that Penfold takes good measure of his own abilities. Penfold, how did you best the sorcerers?”

  Kip gave him a brief summary of the fight, struggling with balancing the fear that he’d done something wrong with the desire for Jackson to see his value. When it came to describing the soldier he’d incinerated, he hesitated; this was specifically forbidden. But Jackson was a spiritual sorcerer, and Kip had known some who would peer into a person’s mind to see the truth of their statements. If Jackson did that, he would never miss the image and smell of the smoking body. So Kip told that part of the story and waited.

  “That accounts for the calyx prisoner,” Jackson said, as though Kip had stopped at the capture of the otter.

  “He was helpful. What happened to him, sir?”

  “He’s a prisoner.” Jackson gestured in the vague direction of the harbor. “We don’t expect him to know much, but we have to ask.”

  “And after?”

  Jackson wavered, and for a moment Kip thought he might slide back into furious rage. But then he laughed. “I will put you in touch with Major McLaren. So your fire abilities are as excellent as promised.”

  Here it was. “I know I wasn’t supposed to kill soldiers directly—”

  “You had no choice. And besides, they had summoned a demon to kill our boys, so I think it’s only fair that we burn up one or two of theirs. I’m sorry you didn’t burn up the sorcerers while you were at it. Good job, Penfold, and O’Brien, and even you, little miss.”

  Alice bristled, but kept her temper under control. Kip barely noticed, his shoulders sagging. He would not be punished, it seemed. Relief overwhelmed him, tinged with guilt that he tried to dispel. If Jackson did not think his action worth punishment, he should not think so either.

  The Master Colonel went on to tell them that the Continental Army’s next goals would be to take over the shipyards south of Boston and seize whatever ships they could, to drive the British from New York, and to defend the other ports of the Colonies: Richmond, Philadelphia, Charleston, and Savannah. “There aren’t many sorcerers left in the military,” he said, “so we’ll be moving everyone around as we need them. You must all be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

  Captain Lowell asked the question that Kip was thinking, that presumably many of them were, with the possible exception of Dapper, who looked like he was still regretting every decision he’d made in the past twenty-four hours. “Sir, if we keep the British out, will that end the war?”

  “It certainly puts us in a better position to negotiate,” Jackson said. “I’ll be honest, it looks like we lost more men than they did at the Harbor even though we won the day. If we keep that up, they’ll know they can win the war by throwing more ships and more men at us. They can draw from India, from Africa, even from China, and in a matter of months could have ten thousand men at our ports.”

  Nobody looked particularly happy at this news. “So,” Jackson said, “We’ve got to hurt them. Only one of us has got fire, but we’ve all got demons. Freeze the air so their lungs ice over when they breathe. Explode the gunpowder in their guns. Turn the ground to quicksand. You all know what your demons can do. Take as many British lives as you can. That’s what’ll end this war.”

  When they’d been dismissed, Kip followed Alice and Malcolm silently back to their room. Captain Lowell had stayed behind to ask if he still needed to watch them (he’d spoken quietly, but in range of Kip’s ears as the fox paused at the bottom of the stairs), and Jackson had said, “Yes,” sharply and with finality. So all four of them took turns washing up in silence and then returned to sit on their cots.

  Of course Malcolm was the first to break the silence. “Is that how battles go, then?” He faced Kip, but the question was obviously addressed to Lowell. “We sorcerers throw demons and spells around and kill soldiers like toys on a chessboard while we figure out how to stop each other, and the one with the most toys left wins the battle?”

  “Pawns,” Captain Lowell said.

  “‘Pawns’ the battle, then, whatever your military lingo is.”

  “The pieces on a chessboard are pawns. Moved about and sacrificed in service to the king.”

  “I never learned to play chess,” Malcolm said. “Everyone talks about it as a substitute for war, that’s all I know.”

  “Pawns are the front line soldiers on a chessboard.” Lowell gestured at an imaginary board in front of him. “The sorcerers are stronger pieces behind the pawns, able to jump over them.”

  “I’m not asking for a lesson.” Malcolm faced Lowell now, the skin over his eye sockets creased in an angry glare. “I’m asking if we’re throwing away the lives of our people.”

  “What do you think war is?” Lowell asked. “An academic competition where demon summoning and spellcasting is judged by an impartial panel of learned masters? Grow up. This is life outside your sheltered walls. These people have chosen to risk their lives for a cause that they deem important enough to be worth that sacrifice. What difference if they die from an enemy bullet or ice in their lungs?”

  “Then why not kill them directly?” Kip asked. “Why play at being civilized?”

  A piece of paper appeared in front of him and fluttered to the ground. As Kip picked it up, Lowell said, “Because if we wished, two sorcerers could obliterate every soldier on the field, and then who would win the battle? Who would be left to enjoy the victory? The rules of war have been established long before our time a
nd will persist long after. What is that, Penfold?”

  “A message from Emily,” he said. “She’s coming here in five minutes and wants me to be with Malcolm and Alice.”

  Lowell folded his arms. “I will be anxious to hear what she has to say as well.”

  Malcolm laughed. “You’re welcome to try your luck. She may decide you’d be better off walking back from New Cambridge.”

  “She wouldn’t dare.”

  Malcolm turned to Kip with a grin. “Ah, he don’t know our Em, does he?”

  Kip smiled. “I don’t think she’d send Captain Lowell to New Cambridge. But she might take all of us there.”

  “You’re under orders not to leave.”

  “Ah,” Malcolm said, “but Emily’s not under your orders, is she?”

  Kip left the two of them to walk over to Alice’s wooden screen. The vixen looked up from the edge of her cot, tail curled around her hips, but didn’t say anything. Kip sat on the floor beside her. “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m all right,” she said. “I think. I don’t know. I keep seeing the men dying this morning but it feels like it was a bad dream. You know?”

  “I know.”

  “What the captain says makes sense. I don’t want to kill people and I don’t want them to die, but if there’s no other way to win a war, and…and I suppose we have to have wars or else we wouldn’t be able to stop bad people like Napoleon.” She tilted her head. “And King George too now?”

  “And King George.” Kip rested a paw on her knee. “I hope we won’t have to kill many more people. Maybe Emily has good news.”

  She covered his paw with hers. “It was scary, but I’m glad we were doing it together. I was worried I’d disappoint you.”

  “Disappoint me?” Kip sat beside her on the cot. “I’m so terribly proud of you. I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to protect you, but…” He saw the flash in her eyes. “I know you can protect yourself. But war is frightening.”